Blister
by MyGildedCage
Summary: The GoldenBoy has been tarnished and his secrets are corroding his reason. Someone has to fix him.GRAPHIC, ABUSE, SI, VERY DARK
1. Prologue

**Blister**

Jennifer

Warning: Child abuse, self-harm, SLASH (m/m pairing), other stuff.

Disclaimer: I only wrote this not the series; I make no money from this, but I am using it to help my writing skills. Please don't prosecute me!

_**PLEASE CONSIDER**_: It has been well over a year since I have last written anything. Please understand my other stories have been unfortunately abandoned until I can go back over them and fix up the mistakes and make them better for the readers. Reviews as well as CONSTRUCTIVE criticism are welcome.

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Prologue:**

The air was hot, humid; the stench of overly sweet potpourri polluted the air as the Dursleys sat themselves down for afternoon tea. The hour is four as a young boy makes his way, albeit slowly, through an astonishingly long list of chores. This boy's name, Harry Potter, and unlike his _normal_ Muggle _family_ Harry is anything but. Harry, or the boy-who-lived as many know him in the Wizarding World, is just that; Harry is a wizard, and he isn't even an ordinary wizard. He, a knobby knee skinny teen with unruly hair and taped coke bottle glasses, is the only being, or creature, magical or not to have survived the killing curse, Avada Kedavra. This self same curse has marked him with a single lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead.

However Harry has many odd things about him, many things indeed. While Harry's _doting_ family sit in front of the telly in the kitchen (enjoying, no doubt, the same biscuits Harry had had to make that very morning, those self-same biscuits which his uncle Vernon found unsatisfactory, which is the reason for his slow pace that very day.) Harry was forced to slave away in the hot sun, nearly one hundred degrees that day, wearing one of his only long sleeved shirts, tattered and stained, and a pair of ratty ripped jeans close to ten sizes to large for the malnourished boy.

Harry had no choice save for to wear these bulky clothes, but as he could not explain this to his new neighbor (who was at that moment asking him about his state of dress as he weeded the front garden), the real reason behind this he was almost grateful when his uncle called him in for, ostensibly, a drink of tea. Harry knew though that he was in for it by the look in his uncle's eyes. Harry knew he wasn't allowed to talk to neighbors. Harry though was suddenly happy remembering that now he wouldn't be allowed outside after this _infraction_. It wasn't his fault the Dursleys lived in a neighborhood full of busybodies almost as bad as his _dear_ aunt Petunia.

As Harry -the too-thin, too-short malnourished boy- was drug up the stairs, hair breaking off in his uncles hands, thrown into his room, his ankles bruising where his cousin grabbed them, and finally kicked and hit until he nearly lost consciousness, he was thinking how oddly ironic it was that he should be beaten by a couple of morbidly obese Muggles when he was supposed to defeat the dark lord.

Harry's head was pounding. It had been only a few hours ago he had passed out and his head felt as though Neville were making potions inside it, not a pleasant feeling. Harry nursed his wounds quietly, moving cautiously towards the window where the pounding seemed to emanate. _Had it been three days already?_

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Sorry for it being so short, however this is only the prologue. Hope you like it so far give me your opinions. 


	2. Screaming on the Inside

**Blister**

Jennifer

Warning: Child abuse, self injury, m/m pairing, graphic content, rape, etc.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters nor the setting and some of the background. However I did write this, don't steal.

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**Chapter One: Screaming on the Inside**

Harry crawled to the window, draft leaking through the boards sending chills over his sweat soaked skin. Pulling loose boards back Harry took the letter proffered by the sparrow twittering away on the ledge. Another three days had passed, another meaningless letter received, another painstakingly written but similarly empty reply.

Odd thoughts kept flitting to the surface of his mind casting shadows on the sliver of sanity remaining. What would Snape think if he saw him now?

'Probably laugh, if you could call what Snape does laughing more of a snort and scoff but all the same he would find it hilarious that a bunch of muggles are succeeding where Voldemort failed.' But Harry didn't find it so funny, he knew he was dying, but when ones destiny is to kill or die trying what's really the point in worrying.

He hurt so bad some days breathing was a chore, which took all his concentration, and he wondered if crucio would not have been better. 'It must be some cruel joke,' he would think at times like this. Times like this when he lay flat on the cool rough wood, loose nails digging into his boney hips splinters biting his bloodied arms pain ripping through his body. Times like this when the chill seemed to rape his very being, Just another rape to add to the list, occlumency, chill, his uncle, all invading him in deeply personal ways strangling both breath and thought.

As the scents lingering on the letter, written in Molly's kitchen no doubt, wafted upward Harry's stomach made several attempts at freedom, one final heave and bile rose and joined the blood caking on the splintered wood and Harry's front. Sitting up sharply, with a near silent scream Harry clawed at the open wounds as acid leaked through. Crucio would definitely have been Harry's preferred form of torture.

Sifting through the boards the first rays of morning hit the boy's face, specks of dust glittering deceptively in the air as Harry struggled to open his eyes and obey his aunt.

Head throbbing, pounding to an impossibly loud beat only overpowered by the rasping watery breath of the dying, hacking gasping coughing unbearably loud in Harry's own ears. For once Harry was honestly afraid of dying and yet he welcomed it with waiting arms, stretched as wide as they could for the fractures and bruising.

He could no longer tell what was broken or just bruised anymore he was unconscious so often anymore, the darkness sweeping in like a monster in a fairy tale, or perhaps a hero saving him from the pain but leaving him to a much worse creature's violent whims.

Ripping, his wounds were reopening. A stretch, uncomfortable and a sting beneath the skin an odd peeling feel like a banana not yet ripe pulling free of its skin, and then the warmth, the sticky, wet source of heat quickly cooling and sluggishly cracking apart to start the process all over again as Harry finally stood.

His head spun, the monster fighting him again clawing the edge of his sight. Harry suddenly had the absurd image of a shadowy demon eating bleeding bananas. Harry was terrified, but more so of his Uncle than death. Maybe if he were a good boy he could shower. Harry hated baths; he had since childhood. Vernon loved when Harry took baths.

Harry shuddered as the draft hit him again, chill racing down his spine and he dressed in his loosest clothes. He had to get out of here if only for his sanity. Though Harry's aunt didn't like her nephew they were still family, and if he remembered correctly it was a week day, when Vernon left for work in an hour he would leave, he could always count on Aunt Petunia for the important things, and if this wasn't important he didn't know what was.

One thing was for sure though; he would not be going back to Dumbledore or the Burrow, the Weasley family practically idolized the old coot. No, Harry needed to go to someone he could trust but that no one would suspect. Harry needed someone who could actually help him and not simper over his scratch. Snape, Harry needed Severus Snape.

It was rather simple actually, and the more simplistic plans were usually the most effective. The only problem was how to get there.

"Harry, are you up yet? You need to start breakfast before your uncle wakes up." His aunt called quietly through his door. He would worry about transportation after Vernon left.

Walking softly careful of the second step from the top, having lived underneath the stairs for half of his life he knew just which steps to avoid, Harry made his way to the kitchen. He stared shocked at his aunt standing in front of the stove frying the eggs she really did care, in a detached sort of way.

As heavy steps were heard coming down the stairs, they switched places, a creak and more stomps followed and Harry placed the eggs on a plate next to the bacon and golden toast hurrying to place it at the head of the table. Harry backed away submissively, habits ingrained in infancy, head down, eyes lowered back away shoulders slumped silent unless spoken to, and when you speak you look them in the eye through your lashes in a sick parody of innocence.

It had been long since Harry had been innocent, and everyone present knew it was simply a ploy to lessen the inevitable beatings that always seemed to follow breakfast; no matter how good the eggs or bacon seemed to be. Harry did as he was taught admirably, perfecting his role not a quiver to his hands as he placed the napkin on his uncles lap while his aunt grimaced facing the other way putting away eggs in the ice box. She knew what her husband did behind closed doors; she also knew he had a good two hundred pounds on her at the least.

What was she supposed to do? She would help him, she had decided the moment she saw his face that morning, if you could call it that. His once handsome features mangled, swollen, so covered by blood and dirt the only thing visible were the bloodshot eyes the green brilliant but empty making every cruelty suffered seem even more heinous.

Harry wanted to run, to run and scream and cut his uncle's fucking dick off. Harry wanted to cry and curl in a ball and scrub his hands raw as he adjusted the napkin on the walrus' lap. Harry wanted to slice the nonexistent neck when after his aunt turned around Vernon pressed the bony hand down into the napkin.

Nevertheless, what Harry wanted had never mattered before and it certainly did not now, in fact, it had been the source of several beatings, and so he was quiet. He was good at keeping quiet, raised in a cupboard with only spiders and mice to comfort him. Harry was quiet, near dead silent as his aunt left the room and the morning routine began anew.

Harry was quiet when his head hit the counter, the wall, and finally face down on the floor, just another rape to add to the list.

It was getting tiring, he was tired not even of even one specific thing it was everything all together. Why couldn't he just be normal? If it wasn't one thing it was another, even before he knew of the wizarding world he knew that he was a freak. One can only be told something a certain number of times before they truly believe it. It was his fault, but that did not mean he had to like it.

Harry hated it, he hated baths, he hated breakfast, he hated this hellhole, but even more so he hated Vernon Dursley. He had to out of the house. Upon hearing the door slam he slowly sat up, cursing Dumbledore and the ministry, he took one look at his aunt as he walked out of the kitchen. She was crying, but he could feel no pity for her, she wasn't allowed to cry. She wasn't the one who was just been violated among toast and eggs and blood.

Looking down at himself, he realized just how bad he looked, nearly unrecognizable. He would deal with that after getting to the potions master. Looking up again he found his belongings in front of him, even the articles from underneath the loose floorboard. Hedwig was nowhere in sight but she had been told to steer clear as soon as the order had threatened his uncle.

Grabbing the shirt and other garments from his aunt he walked into the bathroom to rinse a little of the filth from his body. The water was steaming near cracking the tile under its pressure, near scalding and the bar of soap, new from a box next to the sink, was stained red where it had once been white.

The water ran down the brunette's shaking legs and swirled around the drain leaving stains of red on everything it touched. It stung to scrub his wounds and many he couldn't reach but he supposed just being under the hot water would have to be enough until he could scour his body with magic. Harry missed the burn of magic in his fingertips, what Harry missed was the feeling of liquid fire coursing through his veins, it was nothing like the mild tingling he had heard others describe, maybe he was just more sensitive to the feeling.

Gingerly wrapping the light towel around his abused body Harry stepped in front of the mirror and stared at what that monster had done and for a second he understood Voldemort. It scared the hell out of him.

"Hey Harry! Mom says she'll drive you as far as King's… what the bloody hell happened to you?" Dudley had just looked at Harry after barging into the bathroom. He had not been home much all summer thanks to 'tea parties' and boxing practice.

"Your father." Harry glared lightly covering his scalded bruised flesh. He found it almost comical when his cousin's eyes widened and he had the grace to blush and back out of the room mumbling apologies. Harry dressed quickly, grabbing a familiar pair of black glasses that were taped along the bridge if his nose. Harry left the bathroom and was about to lift his trunk when thick hands pushed his out of the way.

"Let me you couldn't possibly carry anything in your state, I'm surprised you're standing." For a moment, he had thought it was Vernon, but when he looked up, his cousin's face greeted him sullenly.

Harry looked back down mumbling his thanks as they walked to the door to wait for Petunia. As she stood in the doorway from the kitchen, she looked sadly on her only nephew angry at what her husband had done to the poor boy. Frowning she handed the boy a small bag.

A small smile graced his face as he looked in to find a corned beef sandwich and a thermos that used to belong to Dudley when he was a kid. Fading bears in garish colors greeted him and reminded him of Mrs. Weasley. Crumpled bills lay next to the thermos and he wondered the exchange rate for muggle currency.

The ride to the station was silent; Petunia was taking backstreets just in case her husband was coming home for lunch. She had left a note on the fridge declaring the 'freaks; had picked up their nephew and her and Dudley were out shopping.

Once they had parked and carted Harry's things to the barrier between the station and the invisible platform the younger boy said a quick goodbye. Harry turned to leave not expecting any response of fond farewells from his remaining family, and though he stiffened and flinched away at first, he quickly realized Vernon would never hug him.

"I do love you Harry, I wish I could have helped you more." Harry's aunt sniffled into his shoulder, and Dudley loosened his grip to hold onto his mother as she cried and Harry walked out of their lives forever disappearing behind the barrier.

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Sorry, it took so long to update, as well as for the short length of this but I thought this was the best place to end the chapter for now. Usually I average between 6 and 10 pages a chapter, but there is not much to write about at Privet drive. Sorry for the lack of editor however I wanted this out as soon as possible. I promise to try to update more frequently.


	3. Two Birds

**Blister**

Jennifer

Warning: Child abuse, self-harm, rape, SLASH (m/m pairing), other stuff.

Disclaimer: I only wrote this not the series; I make no money from this, but I am using it to help my writing skills. Please don't prosecute me!

**Chapter 2: Two Birds**

The train was still, the platform empty, and the air on the train remained stale and undisturbed since he last rode, but over all it was the most peace Harry had been allowed all summer. He didn't know exactly what was bruised or simply broken but he didn't care, they would be healed when he arrived at Hogwarts later that afternoon. Apparently during the summer the train ran once a week for Hogsmeade, though rarely anyone used it as apparation and floo were far more convenient. Fortunately luck was on Harry's side as it happened to be going today. The only problem was once he got there he would have to walk all the way up to Hogwarts unless he could find someone to put his firebolt back to its rightful size. Even then he still had to wonder if Snape even stayed over during holidays or if he went off to stay with someone else. Most certainly Albus would not be helping him.

However that could all wait until he got there, at the moment he was tired and hungry but as he looked down into the tacky lunch box the thought of food seemed far less appealing. Knowing he had to get used to eating more though he tried a small bit of crust and drank a little of the juice to keep it down.

Harry was soon wishing he hadn't eaten any as his stomach growled at him to eat but he knew more would have him retching all over the carpeted floors and burgundy chairs. He decidedly tucked the food away in his trunk for the time being and tried his best to finish his homework while he had the time and freedom to do so. Reaching for his potions text and half way broken ball point pen Harry began highlighting key facts and writing notes beside his text cross referencing with his Herbology books in order to understand the potions he would be making that year. After much thought he started on his essay the topic caused his smile to make a brief appearance, _Explosive Reactions of Benign Ingredients. _Harry had to choose two common ingredients in most potions and why they react badly together without a stabilizer, such as ground earthworm. This mildly reminded him of his own relationship to the normally calm Potions Master. Chuckling at the thought Harry bent back over his paper and went to work.

By the time the train stopped in Hogsmeade the sky had taken on a dark shade and looked full to bursting in front of the blood red sunset Harry knew lay behind it. Picking up his bags Harry made the trek to the front of the train to see the conductor about his broom shortly. Unfortunately for Harry the conductor was a squib and at the question had looked down sadly in his graying robes as though ashamed of even existing. Harry felt much the same for himself.

Upon exiting the train the boy-who-lived began his slow walk up to the castle, legs throbbing from disuse, bruises, and possible fractures, and heart pounding as he bemoaned his fate. Harry walked head bent tears streaming down his bruised face and into reopened cuts stinging annoyingly. With his head down, dead leaves of varying shades pressed into the mud, he walked absently trying to distract himself from his pains, glamours rising automatically over the worst of his injuries as he focused. Suddenly a cry of pain filled the air as Harry hit the ground with a thud; a long shadow cast over the sun.

"Potter?" Severus uttered in disbelief. Hands stinging from the rocks and pebbles Harry raised blurry eyes to meet those of the voice waking him from his stupor. Wincing as his professor addressed him.

"Potter are you deaf? I asked what you are doing here. If I am not mistaken you should be with those relatives of yours." Snape watched the boys face carefully shock painting the boys eyes and drawing his mouth open. At the mention of his relatives Harry let his shoulders slump just knowing he would be sent back. Why should he ever think that Snape would help him? The younger man flushed with embarrassment and began to mutter apologies; unbeknownst to him his silvery tears were not hidden by his waist length hair.

To say that the Potions Master was concerned might be stretching the truth but the lines of confusion around his mouth were hard to deny. Why should the boy act like this? Severus was determined to know. The professor reached out to the boy, but when his hand brushed the distracted youths shoulder and brought out a flinch Snape bent down and put his thumb beneath the brunettes chin tilting it up to talk to him. However when the neck beneath the face met the light several rings of bruises caught Severus' attention. Blue met yellow in nasty shades of puce and violet settled along the boys Adams apple.

Snape's gasp caught Harry's attention as he was awaiting the verbal lashing he associated with the most hated professor of Hogwarts. Realizing what it was that had drawn the man's attention Harry tried to stand up and back away as quickly as possible. Though he had wanted this professor's help, he didn't think that he would have to show the damage to anyone. Had he been so foolish as to think he could just ask Snape for potions, potentially addictive potions, without showing him reason or proof of his need?

In his hurry to get away Harry forgot about his injuries and the consequences of jarring these injuries. Harry nearly screamed at the fire shooting from his ribs and other points of injury. Instead once he had stood, clumsily at best noted his professor, Harry had to fight the waves of nausea with his head between his knees. Gasping in pain and cursing his luck as he felt bile reach the back of his throat Harry took a deep, hopefully calming, breath.

Severus Snape had been witness to many death eaters acting in a similar fashion after a round of torture however he had rarely seen this in daylight and never from Harry Potter. Just as he was thinking of offering the boy a steadying hand, though no potions as he had no idea what to treat yet, the brunette swayed skin waxy graying as he collapsed sideways strong hands grabbing him before he could damage himself further. Leaning the youth backwards and placing his arm beneath the crook of boney knees Snape lifted the boy up and began his way back to Hogwarts. His ingredients could wait another day.

Though Potter was heavy and dead weight Snape couldn't shake the feeling that he should weigh much more and that at sixteen years old he should be too heavy for a man as lanky as Severus to carry.

The steady rhythm of Severus' heart and the soft padding of his boot clad feet only woke Harry for a second. Groaning from the pain Harry only said a few murmured words before drifting back into a much more contented unconsciousness nestling further into his professor's warm black robes.

"D…dun tells Dumble…" Severus would respect his wish as long as he received an explanation later. As it was he was enjoying the comforting weight in his arms too much to argue with the obviously ill boy, though he wondered at how small his burden felt.

The first thing to assault Harry's senses as he rose to consciousness was the delicate scent of tea. The thought of the warm liquid made for as good an excuse as any to wake up. Harry just hoped his aunt would let him have some today. This thought however was driven out of his mind as his feet hit the icy floor.

Now he remembered quite clearly where he was and he only hoped that the Potions Master wouldn't throw him out or demand answers. But he knew the two were mutually exclusive. If he didn't bother to explain his reasons for walking to Hogwarts then the Professor would have no choice but to send him home even if he didn't want to. Harry was positive he would throw him on his ear as soon as he possibly could, even if he explained. That would be after he patched Harry up, Snape may be cruel but he was not heartless Harry knew that much.

Harry drug himself out of the warm bed with its surprisingly soft red sheets, he wondered if perhaps he had slept in Snape's bed. Walking hesitantly, unsteadily, Harry tried to hide his wince whenever he stepped on his right food a little heavily. Peaking around the doorway into a shockingly warm living room, in which Severus Snape sat comfortably sipping what Harry, now recognized as an orange based tea, he was startled to be addressed.

"Mr. Potter, how do you like your tea? I am sure a House Elf would be willing to make it to your specifications, they don't have enough to do during the holidays." The boy just stood there, wide eyes staring at a relatively normal Snape.

"Mr. Potter did you hear me?" Harry nodded mumbling something about earl grey and sugar as he went to stand awkwardly by the sofa staring down at his grimy clothes next to the pristine furniture and floors that were precisely Snape. The sound of a gunshot signaled the arrival of the House Elf, Severus however seemed unfazed as he looked up from his own tea to watch Harry's reaction to everything going on. On the outside the boy seemed calm but his suppressed flinches were not imperceptible to someone who knew what to look for.

"Mr. Potter sir! What is you doing here at summer time no students are to be at Hogwarts you shouldn't…?" The spy's glare quickly shut up the little creature.

"A small pot of Earl Grey if you would Dobby, also bring down a plate of sandwiches." Severus addressed the Elf curtly but not in a hostile manner, once again surprising the Boy-who-lived. Harry hid his widened eyes by looking down.

"Actually professor, I umm… I ate on the train I don't…"

"Potter that was more than half a day ago."

"Oh, well I guess a small sandwich would be good about now...sir." He mumbled to the dark wood of the table. The seats, Harry noted, were far more comfortable than expected though even this was barely enough to distract him from the nausea at the thought of so much food. Flinching at the departing elf's noise, Harry busied himself unfolding his napkin for his lap.

"Why Potter I do think this is the first display of manners from you yet." The drawl in the voice sounding less venomous and more teasing than before. The boy however barely noticed anything around him, so intent on his napkin and avoiding both the present and past.

"Sorry sir." He mumbled with eyes still cast down on what, Severus was considering, had to be the damnedest napkin in existence for one to be so enthralled with it. In reality he knew Harry wasn't seeing the napkin, the glassy eyes were enough of an indicator.

The Head of Slytherin knew that look all too well. It was a look many of his charges donned, and he knew that he should choose his words carefully, if he spoke at all, in order to get the whole story. By the dim light of his rooms it looked as though the boys eyes were lightly bruised as well as his jaw and neck, but Snape knew not to trust the lights completely, glamours were learned in second year. Severus was almost sure what he saw was the fading of glamours, and were that the case removing them should be a simple task.

Half an hour later Severus was growing frustrated that all the 'insufferable boy' would say was 'yes sir' 'no sir' or 'thank you sir' and he had yet to look at the Potions master's face. Snape ate at his usual brisk pace hoping that the 'Potter brat' wouldn't take too long to finish his measly half sandwich, especially since half the contents of the sandwich were laying on his plate.

However upon inspection only half a slice of bread and cup of tea had been consumed and the boy was looking decidedly green.

"Potter… Harry, are you…?" However the sentence was cut short as Harry made a run for the sink and retching could be heard filling the old basin and echoing painfully in the small space, bounding off the metal and stone that made up the kitchen. As Harry looked up and went to turn on the sink for fresh water, a cold glass was held out in thin strong hands.

Harry was flushed red from losing his tea but to Severus' amazement turned a shade darker at the gesture.

"School starts in a couple of weeks Potter, how are you going to deal with the feast?" Severus sighed. Green replaced red for a moment before the boy wonder straightened to look level in the Professor's eyes.

"It will be no different from any other professor Snape; my friends know a fraction of my situation..."

"What might that situation be Potter, I have been patient up to this point, I have fed, or attempted to, I have tried to help you but there is only so much I can do without knowing what you are going through?" Frustration tainting his voice, it took a moment of silence to recollect himself before the Professor continued. "Harry what are you doing here?"

Words so simple yet so difficult to answer, Harry was unsure whether he should tell the truth or not, but with Snape one only had one option.

"Professor, I… we need to sit for this it will take a while." Moving in to the sitting room in front of the cold fire and into soft worn chairs Severus aimed his wand at the grate.

"Incendio." Roaring flames twisting in their seductive dance soon warmed the two as they sat in silence waiting for the boy to begin.

"Perhaps at the beginning" Snape suggested growing irritated. Harry swallowed, glancing at his professor with glassy eyes and turning back to the fire to keep from crying.

"I don't remember the beginning, I guess it would be my cupboard, or maybe back with my parents."

"Your cupboard?" Snape asked intrigued already. Harry glanced back at him angrily and he knew to wait for the rest before questioning.

"Sir, I've never told any of this to another living soul, not even Ron and Hermione. So with all due respect I say this. Shut up and let me finish." There was that spark Snape had been wanting; the vacant Harry wasn't any fun. When had he started calling the boy Harry?

"My cupboard was a hole in the wall in hell, a small supply cupboard under the stairs. My Aunt kept cleaners in there and my Uncle kept me in there, along with the spiders and occasional mouse. The cupboard was the start of my problems in that house, you see professor the cupboard, too small for more than a crib mattress, was a bedroom for the first yen years in that house. After my letter came they moved me into my cousin's second bedroom." Again he looked over at the Potions Master to make sure he was paying attention.

"The rumor is true then?" Harry nodded to the older man and turned back to his fire. He was startled back into conversation when one of the logs popped and crumbled loudly.

"Too much like Quirrell." Harry mumbled taking to watching the salamanders gathering on the hearth in stead. "My life was relatively normal until the summer before my second year. Of course I was still fed little if any, but they decided I was dangerous at some point and so my room had bars put on the window, and they took to locking me in my room from several locks on the outside, my aunt however talked him into a cat flap for food because she didn't 'want the little freak to die'" Harry chuckled darkly.

As Harry continued Severus became more and more disgusted with both muggles and him self for treating the poor boy the way he had. He was alerted by the sudden silence and the fact that the boy had pulled his feet into his expensive chair. Nothing was said though as he realized the boy had stopped talked around the end of his fourth year. Glistening tears clung to the boys dark lashes wetly, his eyes stood out in red rims.

"What happened the last two summers Harry?" Snape asked almost afraid of the answer.

"My Uncle had only belted me a bit before, but he didn't get that raise or he would hear the neighbors talking about me. It was my fault he would say. When someone's reinforcing that idea with blood it's hard to remember it is wrong." Harry curled a little tighter and looked directly at his teacher. "Professor, do you know how I learned to count? When I was in kindergarten my teacher was 'nice' enough to inform the Dursleys I was a little behind in math. I ended up counting every spank when punished and if I got it wrong once the belt was brought out and I was told to start over." Tears ran slowly down his cheeks.

"'Get it wrong again and twenty more and we'll start over boy!'" Harry imitated the booming voice while laughing brokenly. Severus' heart reached out to the broken man before him, while Severus himself sat stoic. "After fourth year he went back to the belt, the metal end, he got tired of it really quick and started to look for new ways of punishing me. I was afraid when I went back this summer, the night before I went back to Hogwarts the year before he decided to congratulate me, and give me my birthday present." Snape was shaking his head as Harry stared at him and the glamour finally snapped.

"He's been… r…raping me since my fifteenth birthday. It got to be a routine by the time I left. Get up, make breakfast and either be raped or molested while he ate or he would beat me after. He'd come home after my aunt and I did chores and beat me after dinner, go to bed and he would come in after his midnight snack, which usually left him smelling like whiskey." Empty sobs and dry heaves came from Harry and a single tear fell on Snape's black clad knee where he was currently staring to avoid look at the wizarding world's thrice damned Savior.


End file.
